Page 67 of Dear Roomie
He ignores it all as he takes the seat beside me, his gaze locked on the floor. He places one of his hands on my knee, giving it a gentle squeeze before moving his thumb in soothing circles, although this time, I don’t think the motion is meant to comfortme.
“James, seriously,” he says, still refusing to look at me. “Thank you.”
“For what? Throwing a party?” I ask with a forced laugh.
“No.” He lifts his head, and his eyes blaze with an emotion I can’t place. “Thank you for going through all this effort to try to make the holidays better for me. Thank you for letting me into your home, no matter how much you didn’t want to at first, and letting me live life with you thesepast few months. More than that, thank you for making this place feel like home for me. That isn’t something I’ve had in a long time.”
“Morgan…” My voice cracks as the lid I had on my emotions snaps. I reach out to grab his hand, turning his palm to lace my fingers through his.
I’m not sure if it’s his words, or if my conversation with Nathan earlier opened my eyes, but something clicks in my head—I know that look on Morgan’s face.
It’s love.
Morgan Hall loves me…and I love him too.
He may have found his home here in Athens, but somehow along the way,hehas started to feel like mine.
“Sorry,” he says, clearing his throat. “I didn’t mean to derail your plans. What’s next?”
“Ball drop,” I choke out, motioning toward the TV.
“Okay, then,” he says, his face relaxing into an easy smile. “Let’s ring in the New Year.”
I hit play on the video, but neither one of us looks at the screen. The hosts prattle on about something and start counting down the final minute, but it’s nothing more than a hum of noise in the background, my attention locked on the man beside me. He’s sitting so close that our bodies seem to meld into a single point of molten heat where he presses against mine, and his eyes are filled with such unbridled adoration that my heart nearly bursts in my chest. His tongue darts out, moistening his lips, and I want nothing more than to close the gap between us and find out exactly what they would feel like against mine.
An eruption of celebratory noises blares from the video.
“Happy New Year, James,” he says with a bright smile. “Make a wish.”
God, I wish I could kiss him right now. My body yearns to be closer to him—to feel all of him. It’s a magnetic pull that I’m barely able to resist.Why am I resisting?
Fuck wishes.
I lunge forward and press my lips against his. It’s like grabbing hold of a live wire; shock waves of electricity pulse throughout my body, building unquenchable heat in my core. He is unresponsive to my touch. Until I run the tip of my tongue across his lips, which snaps him out of his paralysis. He lets out a groan and pulls me onto his lap, deepening the kiss as he meets my tongue with his own. I tangle my fingers into his hair, pulling him even closer as I grind down on him. I can feel him harden beneath me, creating the perfect amount of friction to send my need for him into overdrive.
“James…” He tries to pull his mouth away from mine, but I chase his lips, refusing to let him go. He gives in, and his hands move up my body, finally exploring, finally touching me in ways my body has been craving. I move my hands from his hair and snake them under his shirt so I can do some exploring of my own. My fingers meet his heated skin, tracing along his defined abs, but it isn’t enough. I start to unbutton his dress shirt, and he goes rigid, grabbing my wrists in one of his large hands.
“We can’t do this,” Morgan says, sounding pained.
Why the fuck can’t we?
Nothing has ever felt more right than this. I ignore his protest and try to kiss him again, but he dodges my attempt, leaning away with a frustrated groan.
“James, stop,” he commands, and I go still in his lap. “What about Tanner?”
“I’m breaking up with him,” I tell him, sounding just as sure about the decision as I feel in this moment.
“Breaking up, as in future tense?” he asks, keeping my hands locked in his tight grasp.
“Yes,” I admit, “I’m waiting until after the holidays to do it, but I made the decision over the break.”
His face falls, and he lets out a disappointed sigh. He releases my hands and grabs my hips, pulls me from his lap, and places me back on the couch, then slides to the far end, putting as much distance between us as possible.
“It was wrong for us to do this,” he says, his breaths coming in heavy pants. “We can’t do this again.”
Despite the reluctance in his voice, the rejection stings. My shoulders slump and my face grows hot with shame. A lump forms in my throat as tears pool in my eyes.
“James…” His voice is strained. He starts to reach toward me but pulls his hand back and runs it through his hair with a sigh. “Please don’t cry. It’s not that I don’t want this. Believe me, I do, but this can’t happen while you’re in a relationship. I won’t be the other man.”
